5 times John was there for someone-1 time everybody was there for him
by OpticalWonders
Summary: John is a brave, selfless and kind friend. This is 5 times John Watson was there for someone, whether it be saving their ass, hooking them up, helping them out or whatever. Then one day John's injured shoulder causes him trouble during a case and a new deputy on Lestrade's force is being a total dick about it. He should have known better than messing with John Watson!
1. Sally Donovan

It was late at night and a cold drizzle rained upon the large collection of Scotland Yard officers, gathered in front of an old abandoned theatre in the outskirts of London. John stood quietly on the walkway, trying to rub some feeling back into his frozen fingers.

He and Sherlock had assisted Lestrade and his division in an all-out man hunt on the middle-aged vice CEO of a big car dealership, Robert Singer. Singer had revealed himself as a vicious and racist serial killer. Apparently, he'd been laid off from his job one week ago, when a young afro American man had been offered his position. This had resulted in a sudden and violent killing spree. In the last week Singer had killed 3 people of colour, seemingly with no interest in their age, gender of social status. If they were black, he killed them. In John's opinion, this was the lowest form of crime anyone could commit and only wished for the chance to wring the bastard's neck himself.

If anything positive was to come of this, it was that Singer obliviously committed crimes of passion with very little thought involved. He would simply drive around in London's less busy streets and whenever he stumbled upon a potential victim, he'd ram them down with his car at full speed and then flee the scene. This messy and coarse method had made it almost embarrassingly easy for Sherlock and the yard to track him and collect a massive mountain of evidence against him, to make sure he'd spend the rest of life in prison. In truth, Lestrade and his team would no doubt have been able to crack this case on their own, but since Singer seemed to be in a hurry, Sherlock and John had joined the case in the hopes it would speed things up before the psycho decided to kill yet again.

John glanced over at Sherlock who was deep in conversation with Lestrade. Sherlock had been tipped off from his homeless network, that Singer had been spotted hanging around the abandoned theatre, treating it as his temporary base. An easy location to hide himself and his car. The entire division, along with John and Sherlock, had stormed the place, hoping to apprehend the man. Unfortunately the place was completely empty and all they managed were to scare a few doves. Now the detective and DI were brainstorming, trying to come up with a new course of action.

John shifted his gaze to sergeant Donovan who was pacing impatiently back and forth by the ledge of the sidewalk, isolated a good distance from the rest of the group. Her body language showing a mix of anger, sadness and frustration. John felt for her. Donovan, as a coloured woman herself, had been affected by this case more than usual and no doubt more than was professionally recommended, but who could blame her.

She might not be Johns favourite person in the world and she'd been even more aggressive and bad tempered with Sherlock than usual during this case. John found himself to be both surprised and grateful that Sherlock for once hadn't retorted her harsh words as he usually would. Despite what Donovan or any other member on the force thought of the detective, he was more than capable to feel empathy and understand people when they found themselves in difficult situations. Sherlock was probably even more aware of Sally's difficulties, in dealing with the emotional stain this case was putting on her, than most of her colleagues. Therefor holding his own tongue during this time.

As John continued to watch her he decided he'd walk over and offer some words of reassurance. She certainly looked like she could use a shoulder to lean on right about now. He started walking slowly towards the sergeant. As he got closer a soft humming caught his ears. It didn't stay soft for long though and grew rapidly in strength. Suddenly a car skidded sharply around the corner only a few blocks away from where Sally was standing. The car slid to a halt. The high beams shone so brightly in the dark street, that John had to cover his eyes momentarily to not be blinded by them. The engine of the car started roaring dangerously, like a street race was about to go down. There was no longer any doubt in John's mind. Though it was impossible to see for sure, he was certain Singer was seated behind that wheel and it looked like he'd just found his next victim. John only had just enough time to yell out a warning before the car engine roared to life and the back wheels did a wheel spin and aimed towards Donovan at full speed.

"SALLY! GET AWAY FROM THERE NOW!" John yelled.

But Sally, being in complete shock had frozen where she stood and could only find herself watching in horror as the car raced towards her, bathing her in bright light.

John's instincts took over as he sprinted towards Sally as fast as his legs could carry him. By now the rest of the yarders had caught on, but they were all way too far away to have any hope of reaching Sally in time. It was up to John.

Shouts of horror, curses and warnings alongside the noisy engine filled the cold night air. Among the many voices, John could make out Sherlock's fearful yell.

"JOHN!"

But John could not stop, would not stop. He would not allow Singer to get to Sally. The car was getting frightfully close and Sally stood still and vulnerable next to the walkway. John used the very last of his strength to spring the last few yards and tackled Sally forcefully onto the walkway. He felt a slight twinge at his left side, but not much else as they both tumbled to the ground, spinning a few times. Singer had barely missed them, but miss he did. In a desperate attempt, he tried to swing the car around to try again and for a moment John was certain this was it for both Donovan and himself, as they still lay helpless on the ground. But the car was at too high a speed and swayed too much. The car rolled over and with a loud crash wrapped itself around the nearest lamppost on the other side of the road.

For a moment, John laid completely still, nothing but his chest heaving in the effort to try and catch his breath, with Sally still wrapped up protectively in his arms. Slowly the adrenaline started to ebb away and he could feel Sally shaking in his arms and hear the dozen footsteps of the other yarders running towards them. John eased his grip a little to look down at the sergeant. Sally returned his gaze, her eyes still filled with fright, but also gratitude.

"Are you alright?" John panted slightly.

Sally nodded slowly.

"Thanks to you, yeah." She answered softly, the chock clearly still affecting her.

The other yarders finally reached them, some of them having side-tracked to check on Singer in the car, though there was no way he'd have survived a crash like that. Lestrade and Sherlock were, not surprisingly, the first to reach the two. Lestrade helped Sally to her feet and held her steady, his eyes roaming over her worriedly while looking for injuries.

"Bloody hell are you alright Sally?! Should I call an ambulance?"

Sally seemed to finally return a bit to her old self.

"No, no.. I'm alright. Thanks to John. It's only a few scrapes." She said.

Sherlock bent down to help John up where he lay on his back, still slightly out of breath, but feeling more like himself again. It wasn't until Sherlock helped him into a sitting position that he had to grit his teeth and clench his eyes shut when a sharp pain shot through the left side of his ribcage.

"John?! John what's wrong?!" Sherlock asked in a panicked voice as he watched his doctor take himself to the left side of his chest.

"Bloody hell.." John cursed softly between his teeth. "The Bastard must have hit my side with his sidemirror." He finished. He just hadn't felt it in his adrenaline fuelled state. Now as the adrenaline wore off he could feel the pain starting to blossom fiercely across his chest region. He definitely had some broken ribs, of that he was sure.

Sherlock looked up at Lestrade. "I think that ambulance would be a splendid idea after all detective inspector." He said curtly in an attempt to hide his worry for his doctor.

"Yes, yes of course!" Lestrade pulled out his phone to dial.

"Urrg.. Yeah, this isn't working Sherlock, I need to lay back down." John groaned. The position he was in putting too much stain on his ribs, making it difficult to breath.

"Right, sorry John." Sherlock said he started to lower John back down.

Quickly Sally kneeled on John's other side. "Here, rest your head on this." She said as she hurried to fold up her jacket into a makeshift pillow and placed it under his head.

"You're going to freeze Sally." Sherlock said, but still adjusted the temporary pillow under John's head to make him as comfortable as possible.

"John just saved my life. I can survive a few minutes in the cold." She stated simply.

Sherlock eyed her a few seconds before he too pulled off his Belstaff coat and placed it on top of John's form to shield him from the cold as much as possible.

From his place down on the ground John then witnessed a sight he'd never thought possible. Sherlock and Sally shared a small smile between them and he couldn't help himself.

"Wow, just look at the two of you getting along so nicely." He said with as much humour as he could master in his current state.

Sherlock and Sally both looked down at John at said in choir. "Shut up John." But their voices too held a slight humours tone to it.

Sherlock took one of John's hands firmly in his own and brought it up to his lips to plant a soft kiss onto it. Normally they would never show such obvious affections in public, preferring to do so in private, but the detective just couldn't help himself.

As Sally witnessed that sweet gesture she couldn't help but feel ashamed that she ever doubted these two men's love for each other. She looked at John, who'd now become her saviour. She'd always known he was a good man. Brave, strong and kind. And now he'd risked his own life without second thought to save her. Even though she'd never treated his lover or John himself for that matter well in the past. Still, if John could find love in Sherlock Holmes, then maybe she should try and be more accommodating towards the detective too.

In the distance sirens could be heard, getting closer and closer to their destination. As the ambulance loaded John into the back, Sherlock following right after, Sally promised herself that she would change for the better. After tonight she owed at least John that much.


	2. Phillip Anderson

**2\. Phillip Anderson**

John made his way back from the bar, balancing a pint of his own and a double finger of whiskey for Sherlock. John was surprised his boyfriend wanted to come along to a get-together for Lestrade's homicide division, but he didn't complain. It actually seemed like Sherlock was starting to ease up to the rest of the yarders and not just tolerating them. When John had asked him if he wanted to come along tonight Sherlock had held his eyes a few seconds before shrugging. "Sure, would be nice to get out for a bit." surprising the doctor, but in a pleasing way.

"Here you go love." John said as he handed over Sherlock's drink.

"Thank you. Are you alright? The bar looked crowded." Sherlock said in a low voice so Lestrade and the surrounding officers wouldn't notice. John knew he was referring to his tender ribs from when Singer had hit him with his car in his save-Sally-mission three weeks ago. The pain was much more manageable, but he still had at least three more weeks to go before he'd be fully healed. Sherlock had been nervous about John having to trod around in a crowded bar with risk of having drunks accidently elbow his chest or stumble into him and cause him even more discomfort. John smiled softly up at his attentive lover. "I'm fine Sherlock, I promise. I iced my ribs before we went out. I hardly feel it right now."

The doctor had spent the last three weeks sheltered in 221B with little to no contact with the outside. Sherlock hadn't even allowed him to do the shopping and Sherlock hated to do that. John had always been an active person and he felt like being held up for so long had slowly started to make him insane. So when Lestrade had called John earlier that day to hear how he was doing and inviting both John and Sherlock to join the division for drinks at a local bar a few block away from Bakerstreet, John had happily accepted, thrilled at the prospect of getting out and actually being able to socialise a bit.

Hence why they now stood gathered around a table, drinks in hand, in the middle of a softly lit bar with a dozen other yarders around them laughing and having a good time. Sherlock and John joined in the laughter as Lestrade enthusiastically retold a story form when he'd first joined the force, long before reaching the position of DI.

John took a long sip from his beer and let his eyes roam around the bar. Everybody seemed to have a good time. That was until his eyes landed on Anderson, who stood more or less for himself in a quiet corner, looking moody and glum. It didn't take long before John found the source of the forensics bad mood. A few tables over Sally was sitting with officer Ian Jensen, one of the younger men on the force. John had heard the rumours that Sally had dumped Anderson for another man on the team, but now it would seem the rumours spoke true. Ian had his arm wrapped snugly around the lieutenant's waist, almost pulling her into his lap. Sally responded by giggling like a love stuck teenage girl.

John felt a pang of sympathy for the guy. It'd always been more of less obvious, that Anderson had been good and well on Sally's hook. She'd always been the one to call the shots in their romance. John would never approve of Anderson's decision to cheat on his wife with Sally, but everyone on the force knew the man had divorced his wife to be with Sally 6 months earlier. And here she was, having moved on with another man without second thought and Anderson left behind looking more and more like a kicked and unwanted puppy.

John made up his mind and drowned the last of his beer and put the empty glass on the table. After a quick return to the bar where he ordered two shots of bourbon he made his way over to Anderson's corner. He placed one of the shotsglasses in front of the man.

"There you go mate, looked like you needed it." He said and raised his own shot in salute.

"Thanks.." Anderson muttered and accepted the drink.

"Bottoms up." John said and both men threw back the liquid in a quick motion, slamming the glasses back down.

"So.." John started. "You wanna talk about it?" He asked tentatively as he indicated discreetly with his head towards Donovan and her new romantic interest.

Anderson frowned and twirled the shotglass in his hands, not looking John in the eyes right away.

"It's just typical, isn't it? I cheat on my wife for years to be with her and when I finally get my divorce she just dumps me to be with.. Him." He spat the last word out, his eyes still on the table. There was a short pause of silence, John didn't say anything yet, he had a feeling Anderson hadn't gotten everything of his chest. Finally, the forensic lifted his head and met John's eyes. They were filled with a mix of anger and sadness.

"I thought she loved me and now I look like a bloody idiot in front of the entire Scotland Yard. I'm the bastard who cheated on his wife only to be dumped by the woman he cheated with. Now everybody hates me and thinks it's what I deserve, while she lives out her new romance. I guess that's karma for you." Anderson finished, his eyes once again breaking away from John's. "I don't even get why you came over, I thought you'd hate me most of all."

John sighed and grasped Anderson's shoulder to make the man look him back into his eyes. "Listen mate. First - do I think cheating on your wife was wrong? Yes - I do, but I get it. You fell in love with Sally and you tried to do the right thing and get a divorce so you could be with her, it just didn't end out in your favour and that sucks. Besides, it takes two to cheat. Sally was as much a cheater as you. Second - Do I like the way you've been treating Sherlock? No I don't, but then again, I understand he hasn't always been civil with you either and we're going to work on that. But when all I said and done, I don't think you're a bad guy Anderson and you're a good forensic, even Sherlock knows that, he just doesn't want to admit it. You don't deserve this and nobody thinks you do or hates you in any way, believe me."

Anderson's eyes had grown to almost double size. There was a moment of silence before he cleared his throat a bit. "Umm.. Thanks John.. I needed that." His voice was low but sincere.

John smiled. "You know what else you need? You need to get your mind off Sally. She's moved on, so should you."

Anderson snorted in mock horror. "Come on John, let's be honest here. I'm surrounded by a bunch of tall and handsome officers, no woman in here is going to spare me a single glance. Besides, if you haven't noticed, I'm not the best at making first impressions. I'll probably just end up making more of a fool out of myself."

John thought of that for a moment. It was true, Anderson wasn't known for his outstanding people skills, but John really wanted to help him out. "Come on, just take a look around. Isn't there any woman in here you fancy just a bit?" He asked as he started scanning the room himself for any potential matches.

Anderson's eyes faltered a bit to the side and a very slight blush rising to his cheeks. "Well.." He said timidly, his eyes shifting form a point at the bar to the table in front of him. John followed his gaze to a pretty brown-haired woman, who sat for herself at the bar, nursing a glass of white wine. She was wearing a black dress that hugged her figure all the right places and her features looked soft and feminine. John could see why she'd caught Anderson's eye.

"What about that cute brunette at the bar? You should go chat her up, offer her a new drink." John suggested with a sly smirk.

Anderson looked at him in horror. "Are you crazy? She's way to pretty for me, why would she even talk to me? I told you first impressions aren't my forte."

John chewed his bottom lip for a minute, trying to figure out how he could make this happen. Suddenly he got an idea and he leaned closer to Anderson to tell him his plan. "Alright listen to me, this is what we're going to do."

 **10 minutes later:**

John made his way up to the bar, ready to set his plan into motion. He walked right up to the brown-haired woman and sat down next to her, turning towards her invitingly. It worked as he looked up from her drink to see who'd joined her. John deliberately led his eyes slide hungrily up and down the woman's body.

"Damn, you sure are a fine piece of ass. What's your name sugar?" John asked as he laid his one arm on the bar and the other resting against the woman's seat, making her feel trapped as he leaned in closer. He licked his lips for good measure.

"E-Excuse me." The woman stammered, obviously feeling very uncomfortable.

"Come on now, why would a gorgeous girl like you be sitting here all alone? You should come with me, I promise I'll show you a good time." John gave her a wide smile, but was careful not to touch her or get any closer. He didn't want to make her more uneasy than necessary.

"I don't think so, please just leave me alone." She answered and crossed her arms protectively around herself, her body language clear.

"Why so uptight love, we're just having a nice conversation here aren't we?" John lifted his hand from the bar and started to reach out for the woman's thigh. This being Anderson's sign to act. Just as planned, a hand reached over and grasped his right shoulder, turning him around before his hand found its destination.

"Hey mate, the woman said 'no' why don't you just get up and move along now?" Anderson said, his voice deep and serious. He was better at this than John expected. John stood up and turned around to face his 'challenger'. For once being smaller than Anderson seemed like a good thing and John refrained himself from puffing himself up, letting his loose jumper hide his muscled upper body, successfully making himself seem small and puny.

"Hey we were just talking mate, don't come here and tell me what to do!" John acted up, playing his role. Anderson then fisted John's right shoulder, not really putting enough pressure for it to hurt. John let out a pained groan and let his knees buckle a bit, making it look like Anderson was really hurting him.

"I said leave, now!" Anderson growled dangerously and pushed John a bit, letting his shoulder go. Once again John put a little action into it, stumbling a bit before standing up tall again, portraying a look of anger and embarrassment. "Whatever, like I care. You can have her mate." John spat and quickly marched away out of sight.

He found a spot, hidden away in a booth, were he could just make out the words exchanged between the two and sneak a glance.

"Are you okay miss?" Anderson asked and looked the woman in the eyes with worry.

"I am now, thank you so much.. Mister?" The woman looked back with gratitude and a soft smile.

"Anderson, Phillip Anderson and may I ask your name miss?"

"It's Hall, Sofia Hall." The woman named Sofia brushed some of her hair behind her ear. "Would you like to join me for a bit mister Anderson, it would be nice to have you close in case that creep decides to come back."

"Phillip please, and I would love to." Anderson smiled and took the seat John had previously occupied. "May I get you a refill of that drink miss Hall?" He then asked.

"Call me Sofia and yes Phillip I would love that." She said with a smile and even placed her hand on Anderson's forearm. John couldn't hold back his smile as Anderson's eyes lit up like Christmas lights. John stood up to sneak his way back to the table where Sherlock still stood with Greg. He'd just keep a low profile for the rest of the night, Sherlock would just have to deal with brining him his beers.

Anderson couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this happy. Sofia seemed genuinely interested in him. When he talked about his job ' _Oh a forensic how exciting! Tell me more.'_ , his hobbies ' _That's really fascinating, maybe you could show me your collection some day?'_ , his travels ' _I've always wanted to see Venice, it sounds wonderful.'_. As he sat and listened to Sofia's story about her own trip to Barcelona he caught a quick glimpse of John at the other end of the bar. John flashed him a thumb up and lifted his new beer in salute. Anderson returned with a quick smile before returning his full attention to this beautiful and intriguing woman in front of him. All thoughts of his heartbreak over Sally were already fading. Part of him felt like he didn't deserve a friend such as John Watson, especially since he'd never treated him or Sherlock as he should have. His bitterness and low self-esteem had made it hard for him to make connections to other people. But right now, he had a blooming sense of hope, that Sofia might be the one to change all that and he owed it all to John Watson.


	3. DI Dimmock

Sherlock and John exited Lestrade's office in Scotland Yard, with the D.I right behind them. "Thanks to the both of you for staying all night to help me write up the case report. This went so much faster than when I do it alone." Lestrade said with a grateful smile on his lips.

Sherlock and John had assisted the Yard for the past two weeks in closing down a widespread and complex drug ring in London, which hadn't hesitated to murder in order to keep up business. The case had been long and gruelling to say the least and had especially taken a large toll on Lestrade who'd had his chief breathing down his neck, pressuring for results. The poor D.I had hardly slept the past two weeks and it had started to show. When they finally succeeded in bringing down the ring and arrest all associated, Greg was demanded to write up his full report right away. Greg had looked ready to drop at that point so John and Sherlock had offered to stay as well to help finishing the task. It was against protocol, but Greg gladly accepted the help. By now it was early morning and all three men looked forward to some much deserved rest.

"Do you guys want a lift home? It's the least I can do after all your help." Lestrade asked.

"Yeah, that'd be great Greg, thank you." John said as he tried to hide his yawn, unsuccessfully. Sherlock nodded his agreement, even he feeling tired at this point.

The three men started to make their way towards the elevators, but as they were crossing through the open offices where most of the officers on duty were already tapping away on their computers and drinking coffee, Lestrade stopped dead in his tracks and did a facepalm. "Goddammit! I completely forgot to return the receipt and accountings documents from the case to evidence. I can't leave it on my desk – sorry guys I just have to make a quick rundown to return it. 15 minutes and we're off, really sorry."

"Hey easy mate, no worries. We'll just grab a cup of coffee while we wait." John said reassuringly.

"Right you do that, I'll hurry as much as I can." Lestrade said and hurried off back towards his office.

John yawned again and did a quick stretch. Being stationary for so many hours not having done his muscles any good. Sherlock placed a gentle hand on the small of his back. "Wait here I'll go and try to find us some decent coffee in this place, though I'm not too hopeful." The detective said. He patted John's back softly in reassurance and left.

John stood silently for a few minutes, the monotone noises of the office environment; the soft tap of multiple keyboards, the intermittent sound of ringing phones and conversing colleagues lulling him into a somewhat meditative state. It wasn't until the young D.I Dimmock entered and walked up to greet him he fell out of his semi trance.

"Morning Dr. Watson. What brings you to the Yard so early? You know, you don't have to keep showing up after a case is closed, right?" Dimmock chuckled, amused by his own joke.

John laughed softly and rubbed his eye. He hadn't even noticed the young man until he'd been right in front of him, which wasn't normal for him as his military training and instinct usually made it almost impossible for anyone to sneak up on him. He must be more tired than he realised.

"Yeah I know. Sherlock and I just helped Greg out with the last paperwork. We're heading home in a bit." John answered. He looked the detective over and did only just now realise the man wasn't alone. At Dimmock's side, a young boy no more than 6 or 7 years old, stood with one of his small hands clasped in the detective's hand. The boy looked up at John with big brown eyes and chestnut hair curled wildly around his head, making John think of a young Sherlock. Even through the drowsiness though, John couldn't help but notice the boy's glassy eyes, fevered flush and slightly ragged breath, his doctor mode taking over automatically.

"Why hello there." John said with a smile and crouched down to be at eyelevel with the kid. "And who's this young feller?" He asked.

Dimmock smiled and looked down at the boy. "This is my son Daniel. Poor thing has been sick the last couple of days, inclusive all night; fever, vomiting the works. My wife is overseas at a conference and I had no luck finding anyone who could babysit him for today. I took him to the doctor's two days ago, who says it's an infection and started him on penicillin, but it has yet to have effect" Dimmock sighed and caressed his son's head. "Unfortunately, since I have no babysitter, I had no choice but to bring him along with me to work today."

While Dimmock talked, John allowed his eyes to roam over the boy's features in a non-intrusive examination. The detective's explanation made sense to John. Of course, he couldn't conclude anything since he hadn't done a full examination like the other doctor, but the symptoms seemed to match that of an infection. John reached out one of his hands to the boy.

"Hello Daniel, nice to meet you." He said with a warm voice.

The young boy looked a bit shyly at John, his hand still holding tightly on to his father, but eventually reached out with his other hand to shake John's lightly. "Hello." He said politely.

John stood back up with a slight groan. "Make sure to keep him well hydrated. The Penicillin should do the trick, but keep monitoring his fever closely, if it rises further take him back to a check-up at the doctor's office." He said to Dimmock.

Dimmock smiled gratefully. "Will do, thanks Dr. Watson." Before leading his son onwards to his own office.

John went back to quietly waiting for Sherlock to bring him the coffee and Lestrade to return from evidence. Five minutes ticked by before Sherlock returned, true to his word, with to large cups of steaming hot coffee.

"Thanks love." John said as he accepted his cup, taking a large gulp of the liquid, feeling the need for caffeine.

Sherlock and John stood and spoke of the details of the case and John told of his meeting with Dimmock and his son. But the peace got an abrupt end as a female officer sprinted across the room to reach them, clearly with great urgency.

"Dr. Watson! Can you please come quick? Detective Inspector Dimmock's boy is having some kind of attack!" She said in nearly one breath.

John barely heard the sentence to and end before he sat down his coffee, nearly spilling it all over a deputy's desk and ran as fast as he could towards Dimmock's office, with Sherlock close behind. John rushed through the open door and indeed, in the middle of the floor sat the young Daniel, wheezing loudly and fast, tears running down his cheeks. Dimmock were kneeled in front of his boy, trying to help him, but looking panicked and scared out of his mind. When John entered, he looked up, fear in his eyes.

"I-I don't know what's happening! He complained his throat felt weird a few minutes ago and now he can hardly breath!"

"You, call an ambulance right now, tell them to hurry!" John muttered sharply to the female officer, who promptly pulled out her phone and walked just out the door to make the call.

John then quickly dropped to the floor and faced Daniel. "Daniel buddy, look at me, look at me. You have to calm down a bit, try and focus on breathing. Come on." John gently grasped both of the boy's arms and raised them over his head to give his lungs more room to expand. "Come on now Daniel, together with me – breath in." John inhaled deeply and Daniel tried to match the best he could. "And out.." John said and followed it with the action, again Daniel did it as well as possible. They repeated the same procedure a few times, Daniel's breathing easing up a bit now that he wasn't hyperventilating in panic and a having a calm presence to ground him.

"You're doing great buddy, keep it up." John said reassuringly and rubbed the boy's thin arms in a comforting way. As he looked closer it was clear to see the kid's throat were swollen, this no doubt being the cause of his respiratory difficulties. John thought back to Dimmock's quick resume of Daniel's illness. A theory came to mind, but he couldn't be sure until he got some more information. The Doctor turned slightly to look back up at Dimmock who'd moved himself a bit to the side to give John some room. His eyes and face portraying fear and worry from experiencing his dear boy in this situation.

"Dimmock, you said you started him on penicillin two days ago, have Daniel received penicillin or any kind of antibiotic medication before? And have you ever experienced him having any form of allergic reaction?" He asked, his voice steady and sure.

Dimmock shook his head. "No never. This is the first time he's needed it and no, he's never reacted on anything that we know of."

John nodded. He still couldn't be absolute certain, but it was a well based theory and the best he had to go on for now until the ambulance would arrive. John looked over to Sherlock, who'd stayed silent during the whole ordeal, but it was clear he wasn't unaffected, his eyes filled with worry for the young boy.

"Sherlock." John said and Sherlock immediately gave John his full attention, ready to help as much as he could. "Go back to the offices and find a first aid kit. There should be an EpiPen inside, we need it – fast." John commanded and Sherlock flew out the door to do so.

John returned his attention to Daniel who still tried to take as calm breaths as possible, but it was clear it was getting harder and harder for him. The poor boy looked at John with big fearful eyes, clearly fighting to hold back tears. John felt his chest constrict with sympathy, the poor thing was understandably very scared. He didn't allow his worry to show though. He was a doctor and a professional. He had to be the voice of reason while everybody else acted in panic and fear, which was the last thing Daniel needed at this moment.

"You're so good Daniel, such a brave man you are. Everything is going to be just fine, just keep breathing for me."

Just as John finished his little pep talk did Sherlock run back into the room, a first aid kit in hand. He quickly crouched down next to his lover and handed the box over.

"Thanks." John muttered automatically as he quickly rummaged through the contents of the kit, finally finding what he was looking for. He quickly pulled off the wrapping of the pen and looked back to Daniel.

"Okay Daniel, I'm going to give you a very slight prick on your arm." John followed rolled up the sleeve of the boy's blue sweater. "This isn't going to hurt one bit – okay, here we go." John didn't waste any time and emptied the EpiPen into the boy's arm with efficiency.

It didn't take long for the medicine to take effect and to everybody's relief Daniel's breathing started to even out and the swelling around his throat to go down.

"Well done Daniel, it's over now." John said with a smile and squeezed the boy's shoulder. Daniel was obviously still very traumatized and the tears he'd fought so hard to hold back now started to flow freely, his sobs filling the small office.

John gently picked up the young boy, who in return wrapped his arms tightly around the Doctor's neck. John stroked his back soothingly.

"I know, I know – it's alright, you're alright." He said as he walked over to Dimmock who looked so relieved he'd float off the ground.

John handed Daniel over to his father, the young boy's sobs continuing, but making the shift to his daddy easily and wrapped his arms around him instead. Dimmock looked at John with a sea of gratitude.

"Thank you, thank you. I don't dare think what would've happened if you hadn't been here." He said. John smiled in return, feeling a huge sense of relief himself, glad he'd been right in his theory.

Just then the paramedics showed up and pushed through the door with a stretcher, shown up by the young female officer who'd made the call. Daniel was placed on the stretcher, his father at his side.

John went over to introduce himself and briefed the paramedics while they exanimated Daniel. "He's been sick and started treatment with penicillin two days ago, which caused an anaphylactic shock. No history of any other allergies of receiving other kinds of antibiotics in the past. I injected him with an EpiPen with 0,15mg about four minutes ago. His reaction was immediate, his breathing evened fast and the swelling of his throat went down."

"Thank you doctor, you being here probably saved this boy." One of the paramedics said. "We'll take him to the hospital for observation and further examination."

John nodded his approval of this. Dimmock sent him a last glance and a mouthed 'thank you' once again as he followed his son and the paramedics down to the awaiting ambulance. Just as they exited Lestrade walked in, looking very confused.

"What the bloody hell happened? I'm gone for 15 minutes and you guys are nowhere to be found and the whole division is fretting. What did I miss?"

"John just saved D.I. Dimmock boy's life, that's what." Sherlock started with a great deal of pride in his voice.

John weaved off the praise. "I'm a doctor, I only did what I've been trained to do. Nothing special really." He said dismissively.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "That was wasn't 'nothing' John and I'm sure Dimmock thinks the same."

John smiled, but the smile soon turned into a groan as rubbed his eyes with his one hand. The last 15 minutes had been very intense and on top of already being sleep deprived John felt dead on his feet by now. Sherlock was quick to join his side and wrapped one of his arms around his doctor's waist.

"Let's get you home Dr. Watson." The detective said and led John on the way, followed by Lestrade.

…

Later that night Dimmock sat at his son's bedside in the hospital, where he slept peacefully. Daniel was luckily feeling much better, still a bit of a fever, but at least breathing without any trouble. He brushed a few curls from his son's forehead. Thanks to John Watson, his boy was still alive and he would never stop being grateful to the man for that.


	4. Greg Lestrade

**I'm really sorry this update has been slower than the other, but right now I'm in the middle of writing up my bachelor that is due in February and our data analysis have been a freaking pain in the ass! So I couldn't afford as much time to write my fiction as I would've liked. Again, sorry for the delay. I'll try and write up the next chapter as fast as possible. Thank you for your patience and your sweet reviews! It makes me so happy to know people are enjoying this story so much :)**

John hurried to complete his text to Sherlock, reminding him to wipe down the dinner table before starting his experiment. He'd just finished and pocketed his mobile when Lestrade returned from the bar with two big pints in his hands and joined John at the table.

John, Sherlock and Lestrade had spent the best part of the day sorting through some cold cases Sherlock had worked out during the week. After a quick dinner containing take-out Thai food Greg and John had opted for grapping a few pints down at the bar not far from Bakerstreet. They'd offered Sherlock to join them, but the detective declined as Molly had just provided him with a fresh human tongue to run a series of experiments on, that being his vision of a Friday night well spent.

John raised his glass in a small salute to Greg. "Cheers mate, I'll get the next round." He said cheerfully. "Cheers John." Greg raised his glass with John and they each took a large drink, sighing in satisfaction as they lowered them back down.

For a while the two men sat together and talked about various topics, including a nostalgic remembrance of their university days where they'd both played on their respectable rugby varsity teams. After a while though John couldn't help but noticing that Greg seemed a bit more reserved than usually when they went out for drinks. The detective always brought a sense of humour and cheerfulness wherever he went, when off duty, easily attracting a crowd of people who enjoyed his presence. With a job as Detective Inspector, Greg had to be very serious and authoritarian when on the job so it was no wonder he liked so shed that persona when in private and being among friends.

Tonight, however Greg didn't say much and at times looked to be deep in thought, another sign that something was troubling the man, as Lestrade always put his friends as his highest priority when together. All these observations lead John to clear his throat and lean minutely closer to his friend, his arms open and leaning with his elbows on the table, to show Greg he was there and listening before asking his next question. "Are you alright Greg? You seem a bit.." John chewed his lip a moment, searching for the right word. "Distracted." He finished tentatively.

Greg huffed out a half laugh and shrugged slightly. "Damn, am I that obvious?" He muttered and took another swig of his beer.

John allowed a small smile to ghost his lips. "Just a bit mate."

Greg straightened his posture a bit. "It's no big deal really, I'm being silly."

"Well, let's hear it." John pushes slightly, wanting to help if he can.

Greg leans forward once again, fiddling a bit with his half full pint. "Three days ago I joined in on a surveillance of a man we believe have been involved in a few gang related killings in London. He exited the bar and got into a brawl with a civil right outside and we saw this as our chance to arrest him with legal cause, hoping we'd be able to work him over at the station to link him to the killings."

"And he got away?" John guessed.

Greg cringed. "No, no we got him alright." He said ruefully, causing John to look at him with confusion.

"Well if you got him then what's the problem?" The doctor asked curiously.

Greg sighed. "We ran over of course and I quickly got a hold of the man and.." He paused for a minute, clearly not liking what was coming next in his story. "The bastard overpowered me and took me down as it was nothing. The two other officers had to pull him off me as if I was some freaking damsel in distress." Greg scowled, waiting for John to break out laughing anytime now.

"Did you get injured? Anything bruised or fractured?" John asked, his voice portraying a fair share of concern.

Greg looked at his friend, his eyes big. He'd anticipated laughter, a smart remark or some other kind of ridicule. The detective suddenly felt a twinge of guilt, of course John's first concern had been his health and wellbeing. He should have known better than think John would make fun of him.

"No nothing hurt, except my pride of course." Greg answered, then shaking his head in frustration. "It's just.. I'm a D.I. I'm in the field all the time. I used to be able to handle myself pretty well, but as I've gotten older it's just been downhill." Greg emptied the rest of his beer in one go and put the glass back down. "It won't be long until an old lady will be able to take me out with her handbag." He muttered darkly.

This time John did chuckle a bit. "What a bunch of nonsense. You're a man in your best age Greg and you're more than able to handle yourself."

"Easy for you to say. I've seen you take down guys twice your seize without even breaking a sweat." Greg commented pointedly.

"Yeah well, I was in the army for many years. If you haven't noticed, I'm not the tallest bloke in the world and I quickly realised I'd have to work extra hard to earn some respect in there, especially because I aimed to advance as an officer. So, I honoured my skills, especially in hand to hand combat and people learned not to underestimate me despite my height. Having a vast knowledge of the human anatomy did help quite a bit too and I ended up teaching several combat and self-defence courses in my years of service." John explained with a smile, because yes, he was damn proud of his skills, but he'd also worked his ass off to archive it. His smile however did falter a bit as he continued. "Unfortunately, I'm nowhere near as good as I used to be. Not after that bullet destroyed my shoulder, but I can work around it most times." He said and finished his beer too.

"I never really thought about it like that, I see your point. I sure wouldn't like to be on your bad side, that's for sure!" He said with a laugh which John returned.

"Wise man." He replied. Suddenly John's eyes lit up as if he'd been struck with a moment of genius. "Listen mate! Why don't you join me in the gym? They have this huge space with padded floors no one hardly uses. I could teach you some techniques, help you build up some core and upper body strength. You'll be taking down bad guys left and right when I'm done with you I promise." John said enthusiastically, his grin growing bigger and bigger.

Greg eyed him in slight awe. "Really? You'd do that for me?"

"Of course! It'll be great to teach a bit again and I get to have a workout buddy for a time. I see no downside." John said passionately.

Greg broke into a smile himself and nodded. "Alright great. Yeah, I'd like that." He accepted.

John clapped his hands once. "Awesome. How about you swing around tomorrow morning? I planned on going anyway and we'll get started." John asked and Greg nodded.

"Sure, that fits me fine." The detective said. John stood up, taking their now empty glasses back towards the bar.

"Well, this calls for another round." He grinned and left to put action into his words.

Greg sat back with a broad smile. He really looked forward to this arrangement with John. He had a feeling it'd do him a world of good.

2 months later:

Greg panted in exhaustion. He bent forward and rested his hands on his knees. John and he had just completed their weekly 5 miles run in Regents park. Since John's proposal to train with Greg they'd kept, almost religiously, to a weekly training program John had made. They'd meet at the gym at least three or four times weekly, depending on how much time cases would take up. A usual workout would consist of half an hour of strength training followed by about an hour or an hour and a half of combat training. John would start out with showing him various techniques and grips to either attack or defend in different situations. He'd start up slow and let Greg copy the moves on him in the same tempo, then gradually they'd speed things up until the movements would be smooth and fast.

Greg had to admit John was a strict training partner. Not in the sense that he was rude or loud, but in the sense that he always made sure they both gave it their all. Greg couldn't remember how many years since he'd slept so well at night. After a day on the job, followed by a workout with John, tired his body out. It was the good kind of tired though, not the kind of tired you'd get after a long, stressful workday, but the kind when all your muscles are sore after good use. Now he was out the minute his head would touch his pillow be fast asleep.

"Good run today." John said, still trying to catch his own breath too. "I actually think that was a new record for us." He grinned in satisfaction.

Greg returned the smile. "I definitely feel an improvement. The first times we did this I thought I was going to die!" He panted out.

"You sure have improved a lot mate. Not just running, but in combat as well. You should be proud of yourself." John said, not hiding his own satisfaction with Lestrade's results. He'd really enjoyed these last couple of months. Greg had, of course, been a great student and had quickly picked up their lessons. When John first met Greg, some years ago, they'd quickly got along. After these couple of months however, it'd really felt like their bond had only grown stronger and more profound. Sherlock dominated such a large part of his life, and he truly loved the detective with all his heat, but he had to admit it was nice having such a good friend in Greg who'd share a pint, talk sports and simply having someone who's brain followed a more human tempo as his own.

"Thanks, I couldn't have done it without you John. I really appreciate what you're doing. You should know that." Greg said, his voice sincere.

John smiled and held up a hand in a half defending way. "Don't be ridiculous, it's good fun. I should be thanking you for putting up with me. I know I can get a bit much." John laughed.

Greg was about to deny that statement when suddenly both his and John's phones chimed at the same time, indicating they'd both received a text message. They pulled out their phones, both already knowing who'd be from.

Greg squinted at the screen;

 _Found a new lead in the Miller case - Yellow dust! If you two are quite done with your purposeless running around I suggest you return home for a shower and join John and me in the alley behind the grocery store at the corner of Cheapside in one hour! Bring a police car and a couple of your least incompetent officers- SH_

John too looked at his message;

 _John, yellow dust! Lestrade will join us in one hour after a shower. Hurry home and maybe I'll be able to find some free time to help you with yours – SH_

"Well, Sherlock's calling. Better do as he says." Greg sighed and pocketed his phone in his shorts.

John did his best to supress the soft blush rising in his cheeks, thankful Greg would probably write it off as heat form their run. "Yeah, yeah. Definitely." He answered and put his own phone away.

Two days ago, the body of a Jonas Miller had been discovered at a local dumpsite. The body seemed to have been several months old. No one had reported the man missing so it was a low pressure case, once Sherlock had ruled out it wasn't the work of a serial killer, but more likely done by a onetime offender. Still the detective had deemed the case worth his time and taken it on.

"Come on, I'll give you a lift back to your flat before heading home. It'll be faster that way." Greg offered.

"Thanks." John said, not about to pass up his opportunity to get home faster.

1 hour and 15minutes later:

Lestrade paced back and forth in front of the parked police car, inside two young officers were seated. Neither of them had met Sherlock Holmes or John Watson before and both were eager to see if the rumours of the two men's brilliance were true. Lestrade had figured it would be a good chance for the newcomers to learn the drill of investigation and since Sherlock had yet to meet them he wouldn't be able to complain until later about it.

Lestrade looked at his watch again. It wasn't like Sherlock to be late when setting a time. He was starting to get slightly worried when finally, a taxi pulled over and revealed the doctor and the detective.

"Where were you guys? It's not like you to be late for a case." He said.

"Something came up that required my immediate attention, luckily it was an easily fixed problem." Sherlock said with a straight face. John however quickly coughed into his hand to camouflage his embarrassment. The detective's hidden meaning not lost on him.

"Well here we are, so what is up with this new lead?"

Sherlock lead all four men into the alley and then went on a long rant of deductions linking the dust partials in the victim's hair to this back alley near a construction site, that mixed this chemically unique yellow sand in the fundament that'd been cast two months ago. The owner of the grocery shop they now stood behind would weekly have his trash pulled off to that dumpsite in which Jonas Miller had been found.

"So, what you're saying is, the shopkeeper did it?" John summed up.

"No John, don't be stupid. It was the shopkeeper's son obviously!" Sherlock exclaimed, like it was the most apparent thing in the world.

Now one of the new officers spoke up. "Excuse me Mr. Holmes, but if it was the shopkeeper's son, then wasn't it a bad idea to park the police car in front of the shop? Aren't we risking the offender noticing it?"

Sherlock barely contained his eyeroll. "Since you're new I'll allow a certain lack of common sense." The detective then pointed to a hole in the wooded fence that separate this alley from another. "The son attends high school and takes a shortcut through here on his way home. On Thursdays, his last class is at 16, which means he'll pass through here in approximately 20 minutes. Plenty of time to plan out his arrest." He finished with a smirk, enjoying to show off a bit in front of the new officers.

"Uhmm, Sherlock.. Today is Wednesday." John said.

Sherlock's eyes widened a bit and looked at his lover. "Are you sure?" he asked uncertainly.

"Yes, definitely Wednesday." John confirmed.

Sherlock swallowed. "Oh, I.. May have miscalculated a bit then." He said.

Just then a young man climbed through the fence at the end of the alley. He may have been young, but he wasn't small of stature. The teen had broad shoulders and a compact, muscular body. The boy stopped as he stepped through the gap and saw a gathering of men, all watching him sharply. The tension of his body was impossible to miss as he saw the police issue firearms two of the younger looking men were obviously carrying.

In the span of seconds a range of emotions could be read on the young boy's face; fear, realisation that he'd been caught, panic before settling on rage. He quickly grasped the first item he could find to use as a weapon, which happened to be a lead pipe that'd been laying on the ground and charged at the nearest of the men, a silver haired man in a worn suit. Not ready to go down without a fight.

Greg could hardly tell what happened. As he saw the teen run at him, pipe raised to strike, it was almost as his body reacted on auto pilot. Within seconds he had disarmed the boy, thrown him off balance, pushed him down to the ground and restrained his arms tightly behind his back. He had to blink a few times himself to comprehend what he'd just done and so easily too. He looked up at the four other men standing around him. The two young officers' mouths hung open in sheer astonishment and awe. Lestrade was surprised to find even Sherlock had a look of amazement portraying his face. John however had the biggest grin he'd ever seen plastered on the man's face, his eyes shining with happiness and pride.

Lestrade quickly pulled out his handcuffs and clasped them on the wrists of the teen.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you." He recited as he'd done so many times before and pulled the boy up to a standing position before handing them over to the two officers. "Put him in the back of the car, we're taking him in." He said.

"Yes sir!" The first said. "Right away sir!" Said the other. Both their eyes shining with admiration and did as they were told.

"That was.. not entirely unimpressive." Sherlock said in a somewhat awed way.

Lestrade couldn't hold back his smile any longer and looked towards John, who still grinned from ear to ear. "Yeah well, I had a great teacher." The DI answered.

Later that week the whole homicide division listened eagerly to two young officers retelling of how DI Lestrade had taken down a dangerous and armed murderer singlehanded in the blink of an eye. That night Lestrade received several shoulder clasps, he was denied to buy his own drinks as everybody insisted on getting the next round for him, shout outs of admiration and cheers filled the pub and Lestrade had never felt so appreciated or respected. As he raised his glass as yet another cheers for him filled the room he silently dedicated the cheer to his best mate John Watson.


	5. Mycroft Holmes

**Wow! This chapter came so easily to me I actually succeeded in writing in one day! (so proud of myself right now) XD. I give you the last chapter before the +1. I hope you all like it :)**

 **5\. Mycroft Holmes**

John stepped out of the black Mercedes and looked at his surroundings. This time it seemed Mycroft had 'kidnapped' him to the old harbour at the abandoned industrial sector. Huge grey buildings dominated the scene, the area smelled foul and graffiti was sprayed on several of the crumbling walls around him.

John turned around with an annoyed sigh to face Anthea, who unsurprisingly, still had her head buried in her blackberry, tapping away at its keys.

"So, which one is he in? I'd like to get this over with as fast as possible if you don't mind. I've plans for tonight you know and you're doing a great job ruining them." John snapped at the woman.

At least she had the decency to look up from her phone for a minute to spare him a glance of total indifference. "He's in there." She said and nodded her head in the right direction, indicating the nearest building that towered right next to the harbour edge. "He just said it was high time the two of you had a chat. I'm sure it won't take long." She finished, clearly feeling like she'd explained enough and returned her full attention to the screen of her phone.

John sighed heavily again. Sherlock had finally agreed to watch a few of John's Bond films with him tonight, on the condition that John would try on his old army uniform afterwards, that'd been stowed away to the top of his closet. John had looked forward all day to have a quiet evening with his lover, after his long shift at the hospital. He'd bought a nice bottle of red wine and Sherlock had ordered take-away from Angelo's for dinner. Unfortunately, when John had exited the wine shop Anthea and a black suited goon of a driver had been waiting for him, the door to the car's passenger seat open in silent invitation. John had refused to enter of course, but soon found himself more or less manhandled into the car by the driver, before being rushed off to God knows where. The doctor had only allowed this because he, of all people knew the stubbornness of the Holmes brothers and knew it'd be a moot point to try and avoid Mycroft. That didn't mean he wasn't angry about it though.

The doctor started to angrily march towards the building he'd been directed to. He entered a large room filled with rusty machinery and assembly lines. In the centre of it all stood Mycroft, looking as smug and proper with his three-piece suit and casually leaning on his slender umbrella, as always.

"You're testing my patience Mycroft. You can't just kidnap me at every your every whim and expect I'll come running like a loyal dog each time." John growled, not even trying to hide his irritation of the whole situation.

"My apologies dear John, you just make it so very easy." Mycroft said in that smug way of his followed by his signature smirk.

"Only because I've allowed it, believe me I can easily make it much harder on you." John said in a very calm and low voice, that somehow just made his statement even more unnerving.

Mycroft's mask only faltered for a split second, clearly not stupid enough to underestimate the truth behind the doctor's words. He quickly shielded off his unease though and returned to the matter at hand. "Threaten me all you want John, but that is not very productive for the true reason as to why I brought you here." He said, his own voice as calm and collected.

"And what might that be then?" John asked with a sarcastic interest.

"Sherlock." Mycroft answered curtly, yet not elaborating further right away.

"What about Sherlock?" John asked in a tired voice, really not in the mood to play the other man's game, but having little choice.

"How long since you and my brother started your.. companionship." Mycroft uttering the last word in an overly articulated way.

John blinked a few times and huffed out. "Our.. Our companionship? You mean how long since we found out our love for each other went beyond friendship and started dating?" He tried to clarify.

".. Yes." Mycroft simply stated, his eyes unblinking.

John let out a humourless laugh. "My God you really do know how to over dramatize things. I don't know, 6 maybe 7 months I think? I don't keep that much track, all I know is that I've never been happier than I am with Sherlock right now."

"Exactly. That is precisely the same case with my little brother. Since the two of you decided to upgrade your partnership to include every sense of the word, Sherlock have never bonded so well with other people. He's happier, more sociable and his habits of dangerous self-neglect have dropped immensely." Mycroft listed, still with his usual cool mask in place.

"Then what the hell is the bloody problem?" John exclaimed loudly, not able to keep his frustration with Mycroft bottled up.

"I'm afraid of what might happen if you someday should decide, that my brother no longer fulfil your sentimental needs and you chose to exclude him from your life, for good." Mycroft said in an ice-cold voice.

John stood completely still for a few moments, a thick silence filling the space between the two men, as he tried to comprehend what Mycroft had just said.

"You're telling me.. You're afraid of what will happen to Sherlock.. If I ever decide to leave him?" John more stated than asked, his voice once again soft, but with a clear undertone of disbelief to it.

Mycroft shuffled a bit on the spot before locking eyes with John once again, his eyes serious and portraying a great deal of protectiveness. "If you break my brother's heart John Watson, no one will be able to pick the pieces back up. Sherlock has already suffered through more betrayals than most because of society's judgement of his eccentric character and from people who used or manipulated him for his abilities." Mycroft paused before continuing. "That's the reason Sherlock build up his emotionless detachment to the rest of the world and labelled himself as a sociopath. He choose a life of loneliness and drugs to protect himself from ever being hurt like that again. That was until you came along. Sherlock's walls have crumbled John and for some unexplainable reason decided you of all people are worth that risk. If he were to suffer the same fate from you as he did back then.. It will surely be the end of my brother…" Mycroft finished grimly.

"So, what? Is this meant to be some kind of 'Hurt-my-brother-and-I'll-hurt-you' kind of talks?!" John exclaimed affronted.

"You may perceive it as that, yes." Mycroft confirmed coldly.

"For God's sake Mycroft! Do you rea…" But John didn't get to finish his rant when suddenly the large overhead lights exploded with a loud bang, bathing them in a shower of fiery sparkles, before leaving them in complete darkness.

"What the hell? Did the fuse box overheat?" John asked in bewilderment.

Beside him Mycroft turned on the light on his phone allowing John to see his face. To the doctor's surprise, the British Government looked greatly uneased.

"I'm afraid it might be more serious than that. I feared this might happen at some point. Though, I never imagined they'd try to get to me on English soil." Mycroft muttered, his eyes looking around skittishly even though noting but darkness surrounded the two outside the limited light source from Mycroft's phone.

"They? Who are they?" John asked as he felt his body rapidly slipping into its soldier mode, trying to recall the layout of the room and planning the fastest escape routes.

"I may've had a slight hiccup when negotiating with the Russian KGB. They did apparently not appreciate my resent attempt to feed them a false intel to gain the upper hand in several worldwide operations. They did offer rather specific threats on how they'd deal with the likes of me." Mycroft explained with a certain calm, but the fear John saw in his eyes betrayed him.

"What?! Tell me your kidd.." But once again John was abruptly interrupted when he spotted a red laser dot dancing on Mycroft's forehead.

"GET DOWN!" John shouted and put action into his words as he tackled Mycroft to the ground to take cover behind a large machine station. A sharp bang rang out in that exact moment and the phone in Mycroft's hand shattered as the bullet ripped the device apart, once again leaving them both in complete darkness.

"Are you hurt?" John whispered harshly as he felt adrenaline flood his system.

"No, I'm alright." Mycroft whispered back, his voice for once breaking slightly with the shock of having his phone shot too pieces while still in his hand, though miraculously not injuring him in the process. "My phone is useless however, we have to use yours to call for help."

John growled in frustration. "My phone is in my jacket pocket, laying on the backseat of your car!"

"Fuck!" Mycroft muttered and John idly thought that this might be the first time he's ever heard Mycroft utter a curse word. He quickly dismissed the thought though and shifted his focus to their current situation.

"We have to get to the emergency exit located in the other end of the room, staying here will make us sitting ducks." John explained in a low voice.

"I can guide us to it via the fastest route in here." Mycroft offered, already up in a crouch to start leading the way. John however quickly pulled him down again.

"That's no good! The fastest route won't allow us nearly enough cover to make it through. You saw the angle the bullet hit! This is a Russian KGB trained sniper, he's clearly shooting down at us from higher ground, probably the walkways hanging along the outer wall above us. You can be damn sure he's equipped with top of the line night vision googles, which means his visual is far superior to ours. Now if we want to make it we must move silently and fast from cover to cover! Understand?" John whispered in a calm, but demanding voice that left no room for questions. His military training allowing him to stay calm. Still he really wished he had had his browning right about now.

Mycroft whispered a quick affirmation, that he understood the plan.

"Good." John said. "Now, do you have a gun on you?" He then asked.

"Yes." Mycroft whispered back. "Although I've never.." He couldn't even finish the sentence, his voice filled with uncertainty.

"Give it to me." John demanded. Mycroft immediately handed over the weapon. John's eyes had already adapted somewhat to the darkness and he quickly noted he was holding a small 0.380 caliber Glock 42 gun in hand. He then checked how many bullets the magazine held (6 bullets) and undid the safety. John took a firm hold on Mycroft's shoulder, holding the expensive jacket tightly in his fist.

"I'm going to count to three and then you follow me okay? Keep close and keep low!" John whispered, making sure to still portray a certain calmness. It wouldn't do him any good to have a panicked British government on his hands.

Again, Mycroft whispered his agreement.

John steeled himself. "Okay, 1.. 2.. 3!"

They jumped out of hiding in a blur of motion. Immediately as the emerged a gunshot rang out and could be heard ricocheting off one of the machines near them. John quickly pulled them behind another machine a few feet ahead of them. They sat there for a few moments, recollecting themselves. John quickly looked Mycroft over, making sure he was still uninjured since it was him the sniper was after. After a few moments, John counted again and they were moving. This time John pushed Mycroft slightly ahead of himself to shield him, making it harder for the sniper to get a clear shot. He hoped the Russian would have an honour codex that'd deny him to shoot any other but his target. Unfortunately, this didn't seem to be the case as yet another shot rang out, this time flying dangerously close to John's right temple. Once again, they both dived behind the next cover they came to, finding a momentary safe spot.

This pattern continued. John made sure to alternate how long they'd stay behind each cover so the man wouldn't detect a pattern that'd make it easier to time his shots. They were almost at the emergency exit now. John and Mycroft leaned against the cold steel of the assembly line they were hiding behind. Both men were panting form exhaustion, Mycroft more so than John.

John kept scanning their surroundings. They could see the exit only a few yards ahead of them, but the last stretch to their freedom was completely bare and offered no protection whatsoever. John stomach fell as he realized there was no way they'd make it. At least not both of them…

John turned to get Mycroft attention. The poor man was still panting hard, clearly not used to such high a level of activity. John grasped both Mycroft's shoulders and muttered lowly, with a serious face. "Listen to me Mycroft. I'm going to distract him and pull his fire away from you. When I do I need you to run as fast as you can to the exit and get the hell out of here."

Mycroft's eyes widened and even as John was still talking he started shaking his head. "No John I can't let you do that. I can't.." He said strongly, but John continued.

"Mycroft it's the only way. I'm military trained, you're not. I can take care of myself. When you get out of here call Greg for help and have him bring backup." John pulled out the gun Mycroft had handled him earlier. "I only have 6 bullets to hold this guy off with, so have them hurry though."

"John no, this is madness! I can't let you risk your life for my sake." Mycroft cried out softly.

John squeezed both of Mycroft's shoulders a little tighter and offered him the most reassuring smile he could muster at the moment. "Yes you can and you will Mycroft." John chewed his bottom lip for a few seconds as he thought of the next words to escape his mouth. "I know how much you care for Sherlock and I _know_ you only brought me here with his best interest in heart, because of your concern and love for him. But I solemnly promiseyou, that I'd _never_ hurt Sherlock in any way. I'll love and protect him till the day I die! I need you to know, that as long as I'm breathing I'll never allow any harm to come to the ones I love or care about.. That includes you. So you _have_ to do this for me okay?" John finished, his eyes gentle yet a bit demanding.

Mycroft swallowed the lump in his throat, not at all feeling like the ice man he'd always been rumoured to be, at this moment. "Yes.." His voice sounded coarse. "yes, okay." He agreed softly.

John nodded in approval. "Good. When you hear me firing, you run! That should draw his attention away long enough for you to get out." John said.

Mycroft nodded. "Alright, I'll get help right away. 5 minutes John. Hold on for 5 minutes." Mycroft almost begged.

John smiled once again. "Don't worry, I'll be alright." John said. Hoping he sounded more reassuring than he felt. "Ready?" he asked.

"Ready." Answered Mycroft.

John jumped out of hiding and quickly aimed towards the proximate area of which he knew the sniper were located, based on the shots fired earlier. He shot his gun 1.. 2.. 3 times. In the corner of his eye he could just make out Mycroft racing towards the exit, reaching the door, ripping it open and charging into the night outside. Once he knew Mycroft was safe he threw himself into cover once again. Up above he heard the raging cry of the Russian as he realized his prime target had just escaped him.

"You son of a bitch! If I can't kill Mycroft Holmes, I'll just have to kill you as my consolation prize!" A jagged man's voice, with a thick Russian accent, roared above him.

John could hear the distinct sound of heavy military boots as they stomped down the iron stairs in a rapid pace.

' _Shit!'_ thought John and headed further away from the sound. 

5 minutes later: 

Greg Lestrade raced across the harbour and skidded to a halt in front of the large industrial building Mycroft had informed him of. Right behind him a whole caravan of police cars followed and a single helicopter was flying in from above, circling the perimeter. Mycroft stood outside, standing next to his black car, the young woman who always accompanied him next to him. Both looking worse for wear, especially Mycroft.

Lestrade jumped out of his patrol car and walked at a brisk pace towards Sherlock's brother. "Give me a status Mycroft! Have you heard any additional gunshots being fired?" The DI asked.

Mycroft shook his head. "Not that we've heard, but John must still be in there with that madman."

Lestrade turned to his officers. They were all dressed in combat gear, ready to take action. "I want the entire perimeter surrounded! No one get in or out of that building! This is a fragile situation. Our prime priority is to extract John Watson unharmed! Inside with him is a hostile, armed and highly trained sniper, engage if necessary!" he barked out. Several of the officers fanned out to surround the building as ordered.

The perimeter was quickly secured and Lestrade was about to shout out his next line of orders when suddenly a rapid series of gunfire sounded from inside. Everything went quiet, only the whirling wind and hum from the helicopter filled the night air, as everybody listened intensely to see if more gunshots would follow. Suddenly the sound of a window shattering echoed and the silhouette of two men, grasped together were seen falling from the second floor of the warehouse, straight into the cold and dark water of the harbour below.

The helicopter quickly turned it's attached spotlight on and directed it at the point of impact where the two men had entered the water. Lestrade, Mycroft and several other police officers ran to the edge of the harbour, the armed ones aiming their weapons at the water, ready to fire if needed.

Mycroft and Lestrade held their breath, hoping for the best but fearing the worst as moments passed by and still showed no signs of life under the water. They'd almost given up hope when finally, a figure broke through the grim surface with a loud grasp of air.

Mycroft and Lestrade almost cheered in relief. It was John! In his arms, he held the unconscious figure of the supposedly Russian sniper. Three officers and Lestrade quickly reached down and pulled both men onto dry land.

As the officers pulled away the Russian Lestrade and Mycroft bent over John who lay on the ground, dripping wet, leaning up on one of his elbows, the other arm clasped around his middle as he heaved up mouths full of dirty harbour water.

Mycroft threw off his suit jacket and draping it over John's wet figure.

"Are you alright? John?! Are you injured, did he hit you?" Mycroft asked feebly.

John finished his heaving and panted in exhaustion, but still managed to stammer out through clattering teeth. "I'm f-fine.. I'm not hit.. I g-got him before he got m-me.. Really.."

"There's two ambulances on standby, let's go and get you checked over just in case mate. You sure as hell gave us a scare, but bloody well done!" Greg praised, beyond relieved John seemed more or less unharmed.

John agreed to the check-up and Greg supported him on the walk to the awaiting ambulance. Besides a few bruises and a slight lowered body temperature, as a result of taking a dive into freezing water in January, he was right as rain and was allowed to return home to Bakerstreet if he so wished. John opted for that as his only wish right now was to return home to the love of his life. Sherlock was sure to be worried since John hadn't returned home to their date night without any notice or getting in touch as he usually would if he was late.

Greg offered to return John safely home to Sherlock. The doctor received several of the orange shock blankets from the paramedics to keep him warm on the ride.

John climbed into the backseat of Greg's patrol car and pulled the blankets tighter around himself in an attempt to ward off the cold, but just as he was about to close the door a hand on the doorframe stopped him from doing so. John looked up and found Mycroft looking down at him with a rare look of sheer gratitude evident on his face.

"John.. I don't believe anything I say or do will ever be able to express how grateful I am to you. You risked your life to save me and I see now I was a fool for ever doubting your love and devotion to my little brother. I am forever in your debt." Mycroft said with a sincerity he'd never thought himself capable of ever possessing, meaning every word.

John simply smiled that reassuring smile of his. "Well, I'm glad we finally on the same page about something, but you're in no way in debt to me Mycroft.. I'll do it all over again if I have to. As I said, I'll always protect the ones I care for." John shifted in his seat. "But now, if you don't mind, I think it's about time I head back home to Sherlock. He must be worried enough as it is. I'm glad you're alright, but please try not to mess with the KGB in the future. Cause that guy was a pain in the ass." John half laughed.

Mycroft allowed a small smile to graze his lips. "I promise I'll try. Take care good care of my brother John."

John offered a quick "will do." Before Mycroft closed the car door firmly shut, allowing Lestrade to drive off to Bakerstreet with his passenger.

Anthea came over to stand at Mycroft's side. "We should get you home too sir. You've had a trying night." She said.

Mycroft nodded. "Yes, very well." He said. As he sat climbed into the backseat of his own car Mycroft dwelled in his reassurance. Knowing that his dear little brother had done right to allow the man, John Watson, into his heart. Because truly he was the bravest, most stupid and greatest man Mycroft had ever had the great honour of knowing and he'd never forget what John Watson had done for him this night.


	6. John Watson

Sherlock and John exited the cab as it drove up the impressive driveway to stop in front of a giant luxuries London villa. John tried, but failed to suppress a wince as the simple action caused another twinge of pain to flare out in his left shoulder, centring in his scar. This of course didn't go unnoticed by Sherlock who eyed his lover with worry.

Since John had taken a dive into a freezing harbour two days ago and saved Mycroft in the process, his injured shoulder had acted up and caused him a lot of discomfort. This had not come as a surprise for either John or Sherlock. John's old wound had always had a tendency to flare up when exposed to the cold. John said it had something to do with the fact that in cold weather oxygen is more tightly bound to the blood cells and therefor do not release as easily, resulting in stiffening of the muscles. Since John's injury had caused severe nerve-and muscles damage due to the harsh condition in which he'd received it, it made his shoulder much more sensitive to the effects of the cold. But even though John was hurting, he refused to let it hold him back and took the whole thing in stride as he always did. Sherlock couldn't help but admire his boyfriend. In the last two days John had kept on smiling and stayed positive, never once uttering a single complaint. Most people would probably not even notice anything being off with him. Only Sherlock could read the hidden pained expressions, the subtle added wrinkles of discomfort ever presence on his lover's forehead, the way John would slightly favour his right side to avoid using his left. Whenever this happened Sherlock would help his love out silently; he'd make tea in the morning so John wouldn't have to stretch to reach the teabags on the top shelf, make sure the fireplace would almost be constantly lit to shield John's shoulder from further cold. In the evenings he would take a seat next to John on the couch and without a word gently try to ease some of the tightly knotted tension in the doctor's neck and shoulders, that would develop as a painful side-effect, with a soft massage. They rarely actually spoke about it, but both men knew exactly what was going on and John always rewarded Sherlock with a wide, sincere smile whenever the detective would perform each of these little acts. It was John's way of silently saying _'I know what you're doing, thank you.'_

Then, early this morning in the middle of morning tea, Sherlock had received a call from Lestrade. A murder of an elderly wealthy woman named Regina Chester. It wasn't just a regular murder though. This was a locked room mystery murder! Sherlock's eyes had immediately lit up like Christmas lights in a way that made John chuckle with fondness. The two men had hurried to finish their breakfast before heading out. On the way however, Sherlock mentally cursed himself as he had momentarily forgotten John's predicament completely as he watched his lover flinch every time the cab hit a bump in the road.

Now as they walked up to the main entrance of the villa belonging Mrs. Chester, where dozens of Yarders were already gathered, Sherlock walked close up to John's side. "John, we don't have to be here. I could have Lestrade e-mail me the details and we can help the Yard out from home. I didn't think this through - I can see you're in pain." The detective said, but made sure to keep his voice low so only John could hear his suggestion.

John however sent Sherlock a soft reassuring smile. "It's okay Sherlock. I might not be up for a wild chase through the streets of London, but I'll be damned if I'm going to miss this case and you being brilliant. How often do we get the chance to investigate a locked room mystery? I can see how excited you are, so don't worry about me. I'll be alright." He said and offered a quick encouraging squeeze to his lover's hand for good measure.

Sherlock's heart swelled with affection at John's words. How he'd ended up with a man as good and selfless as John Watson he'd never know. "I love you." He whispered, not able to hold back the words.

John rewarded him with an even wider smile. "I know, I love you too." Was his answer.

Just as they neared the front door Anderson stepped out, wearing his blue forensic crime suit. He pulled back the hood and took off the facemask to offer them both a welcoming smile and raised his hand in a quick greeting. "Hey guys. Sherlock, I've just finished taking photos for documentation. Otherwise nothings been touched yet so the scene should be clear for you to examine." He said.

Sherlock even offered Anderson small nod and thanks before he entered the villa and ascended the wide staircase to the crime scene located on the first floor. Ever since the night at the bar where he and John had joined the homicide division for drinks Sherlock had noticed, that for some reason, Anderson had actually started to become more and more useful and helpful at crime scenes. The man no longer spouted insults or offence the minute he walked in and so Sherlock hadn't needed to retort back in same kind as they'd used to in the past. As a result, the joined corporation between Sherlock and Anderson's forensic team now made the process of collecting evidence and generally the whole casework running so much smoother, to everyone's joy.

As Sherlock disappeared up the stairs, John stopped up for a moment and looked towards Anderson. "So, how are things going with Sofia?" He asked curiously. He knew Anderson had been seeing the brown-haired woman for some time now, but he'd had little chance to hear how it'd all evolved since then.

Anderson's smile widened significantly at the question. "Great, perfect really! We're traveling to Austria together next week to go skiing. We've rented his amazing cabin near the resort. I know it sounds crazy but we've actually talked about moving in together in the near future. It just feels so right with her. I don't think I've ever felt this way about anyone before." He explained eagerly, his smile only growing bigger as he talked.

John mirrored his smile. "That's great, I'm glad to hear that! You deserve it." John said happily. Glad Anderson seemed to finally have found happiness. It'd surely shown in his work on how much more positive and confident he'd become.

"Thanks John." Anderson said. "I just have to grab a few things from the van, I'll join you guys in a bit okay?"

"Sure." John said as he too entered the giant house. John made his way upstairs, slightly slower than usual as to not disturb his left shoulder too much. As he reached the top he was greeted by Sally Donovan, who emerged from one of the adjoining rooms to the crime scene. She greeted him politely as he reached the top.

"Hey John. Good one today. I'd imagine Sherlock been acting like a kid on Christmas with a case like this." She joked good heartedly, chuckling at her own joke. John let out a small snicker himself. "Yeah he's excited alright. Poor woman though. I researched her a bit on the way here, widowed, no kids, relatives or close friends to speak of. Being all alone in such a big house. She must've been very lonely and then to die like that." He commented.

Sally nodded in agreement a more solemn smile on her lips. "Well, we'll figure out who did this to her and at least give her justice. If anyone can do it it's you and Sherlock." She said.

"Thanks, but don't underestimate your own skills Sally. Without you and the Yard we wouldn't be half as successful as we are." He said in his honest opinion.

"Then we better get working wouldn't you say so doctor?" Sally said pleasantly.

"Lead the way sergeant." John said cheerfully.

Sally lead the way into the crime scene where Sherlock were already scrutinizing every surface of the room with his pocket magnifying glass. Several officers and forensics were busy working the scene and in the middle of the room, popped up in a sitting position in a big armchair, sat the body of Mrs. Chester. A cascade of dried blood ran down the front of her fine, pastel blue dress from a large gash in her throat. Besides the body stood Greg, talking to a bloke John had never seen before. The man was very tall, John would guess 6.2 feet at least and had light brown, short and well-groomed hair. He started to make his was over to the two men to get an update from Greg and to greet the mystery man.

"Ah John, glad you guys could make it on such short notice." Greg greeted as he spotted him.

"Are you kidding? Sherlock could hardly contain himself after you called." John joked. "So, locked room murder huh?"

"Yeah, the housekeeper comes in every other day and noticed the door to this room was locked from the inside. She found that odd as it had never even been closed in her 20 years of service. When she couldn't locate Mrs. Chester she called the police. A locksmith was called to open the door and this was the scene we were greeted with." Greg scratched the nape of his neck. "None of the windows in here can be opened. Only the two skylights above can, but only a crack to let in some air. Mrs. Chester was, apparently afraid of buglers and even had the windows installed with reinforced glass and top of the line alarm system. So, it's a mystery alright." The DI explained, clearly confused by the whole situation.

"Yeah no kidding." John said. He couldn't help but cast another glance at the tall man beside Greg. He still hadn't said a word, but had been eyeing John silently for some time now. John turned towards him in an open stance. "I'm sorry, I don't think we've met before." He said and reached out a hand in polite greeting.

"Of course, excuse me John, this is Ethan Davis. He's American and have just moved to the UK and joined my division, so this is his first case working with us." Greg introduced before turning to the man named Ethan. "Ethan, this is Dr. John Watson. He and Sherlock are our freelance partners that I told you about. They're a great addition to our investigations and works effectively with the whole division. They're the best at what they do."

Ethan gave John an escalator look, up and down. One of his eyebrows raising just a fraction like he wasn't impressed by the small doctor the slightest. However, he did reach out to claps John hand in his own in greeting.

"Pleasure, Dr. Watson." He said, with a clear American accent.

John suppressed a wince as Ethan clenched his hand as tightly as he could, like Ethan wanted to assert a certain dominance over him with that simple gesture. John didn't falter though, his expression and voice cool as ever. "Likewise." He said without really meaning it. John prided himself with being a good judge of character and he had the feeling he wasn't going to like this man very much.

"John." Sherlock called from across the room. Clearly wanting John to join him in the examination of the body.

"Excuse me." John said, glad to get the chance to leave the company of Ethan Davis and went to join Sherlock.

Sherlock and John spend a good while examining the body, the cause of death being obvious. She'd clearly died from blood loss from her slit throat. John checked for other factors such as outer signs of poisoning or trauma, but found nothing. Sherlock started rambling off his different findings across the room, but he was still unable to conclude how the room could have been locked from the inside and in extension how the killer could have executed the murder.

Sherlock went back to re-examining the room and John moved aside as Anderson and his crew moved over to bag the body and transfer it to the coroners for further examination.

John started walking around the room, taking notes of the surroundings. Several minutes went by when suddenly he felt a very slight chill carried by an even slighter breeze in the nape of his neck. He looked around. There was a window a few feet to the left. He walked over and felt around the frame, but the breeze had disappeared and he couldn't detect it anywhere near the window, so he walked back to the spot he came from. Once again, he detected a very soft breeze. It was very weak so it was amazing he'd even been able to detect it to begin with. He licked his right index finger and held it in the draft's path. He could feel the right side of his finger getting colder, indicating the direction from which the wind came from. John started moving, trying his best to follow the current. As it got slightly stronger he realized, with confusion, that he was nearing a bare wall with a intricate floral tapestry all the way to the right of the room.

By now a number of people in the room, including Sherlock, Lestrade and Ethan seemed to have noticed John's slightly strange behaviour as he chased the invisible.

"You got something John?" Sherlock asked eagerly.

"I'm not sure. Maybe.. It feels like a draft coming from that wall over here.. Strange." John muttered as he neared the wall.

In that moment, the scene abruptly exploded into motion. A secret doorway camouflaged very cleverly into the wall sprang open and a large, heavy man bolted out with a raging cry and a long serrated knife above his head in his left hand, racing straight towards John.

John had very little time to react to the attack as he'd been very close to the wall when the man escaped and he'd been taken by surprise. Instincts took over and his first concern was to disarm the attacker before he could injure or kill anyone else. The man came at him with full speed so John only had just enough time to grasp the man's left wrist and twist it forcefully, making the man drop the weapon to the floor with a pained cry. But the momentum at which the man rammed into him was simply too great and John felt himself being tackled to the ground. As fate would have it, most of this heavy man's weight impacted on John's left side and a huge amount of this pressure grinded down right on his injured left shoulder.

John couldn't help it as he let out a scream of agony at the impact and white-hot pain pierced through him in a way he'd never felt before. In a matter of seconds a couple of Yarders had pulled the man off John who now lay writhing on the ground, fisting his left shoulder in a tight grip, his eyes clenched shot in a pained expression and teeth clenched so tightly together his jaw started aching. Sherlock was over him the second the man was removed, his eyes filled with worry, fear, anger, sadness and a mixture of many other emotions. His hands hovered over John's form a few seconds, clearly afraid that any contact at this moment would only cause his lover even more hurt. In the end, he settled one of his hands behind John's head in support and the other resting on top of John's right hand where it still fisted his left shoulder forcefully, being very careful not to put any pressure on it.

"John! John! Breath, come on. I'm here, I'm right here with you. Take a deep breath." Sherlock guided as well as he could, but it was obvious he was affected by seeing his lover in such distress.

In his pained haze, John hadn't even realised he'd been holding his breath. He exhaled and drew in a shuddering breath as best as he could. He continued this for a few moments, the pain in his shoulder starting to fade, but unfortunately only very minutely.

"Good, that's good John. Keep going." Sherlock encouraged, his voice still quivering slightly.

John finally managed to open his eyes a fraction. He could see Sherlock bent over him, but he could also make out the many faces of the surrounding yarders that watched him with a mix of empathy, curiosity and worry. He couldn't deal with all this attention directed at him. God, it hurt so much. He needed to get out of here.

"Up Sherlock, help me up." He managed to rasp out.

Lestrade had now joined and were also kneeling by John's side. "John maybe you shou.." But he didn't get to finish his sentence.

"I need to get out of here. Just.. Get me out." John murmured, a hint of desperation now underlying his voice. Lestrade and Sherlock shared a look of understanding and Greg wrapped his own arms around John to help the detective.

"Alright mate, steady now. On three." Greg whispered discreetly. "1.. 2..3." Sherlock and Greg lifted the almost limp form of John into a standing position. John let out a pained gasp as he was manhandled, but grateful to be led away from the many worried and curious looks.

Sherlock and Lestrade managed to lead John into a small guestroom next to the crime scene and placed him on the madras.

"John.." Sherlock said, his voice worried and sad, not even able to formulate what he wanted. John however seemed to be able to read his mind. His shoulder still burned fiercely, but he was relieved just to having escaped all those stares. Sherlock and Greg he could handle.

"It's okay Sherlock.. I'm going to be fine love. I just.. need a moment." John tried to reassure his partner, not liking the sadness edged into his pretty face.

"Anything we can do for you mate?" Greg asked, he too worried and emphatic to John's pain. He knew very well how much his friend's shoulder could pain him and he also knew how good John usually was at hiding said pain. So to see him in so much anguish really said a lot of how bad it really had to hurt. If the man who'd caused this ended up getting a bit roughed up on the way to the station he wouldn't be unpleased.

John thought for a moment "I just need to lay down for a bit. Could I just.. Have a few moments alone?" The doctor asked softly.

"John.. Are sure? Maybe I should stay?" The detective asked, not wanting to leave John.

Even in his current state John somehow sill succeeded in sending his lover a soft smile. "It's okay really Sherlock. Please, a few moments alone? I need to try and reset my focus away from the pain, but I can't if you stay." John said almost apologetically.

Sherlock nodded in understanding. "Alright, I'll be back soon." He promised and bent down to plant a soft kiss on John's lips the doctor gladly accepted.

"Thanks love." He muttered and closed his eyes once again, trying to get the pain back under control as much as possible.

XXX

Sherlock and Lestrade re-entered the room where the recent ordeal had just taken place. Many people walked up to ask if John was alright wanting to know what had happened.

"John have an old injury on his left shoulder where he was shot during his military service. The suspect landed on this injury and caused John significant discomfort. That's all you need to know for now." Lestrade explained shortly, seeing as he couldn't deny his officers at least some kind of explanation. John was _very_ well liked on the force so it was understandable so many wished to be reassured he was alright.

"Wow, that a freaking wuss that guy is." A voice exclaimed loudly in the room. Immediately everyone turned to their new colleague on the force, Ethan Davis, who stood leaned up against a wall with his arms crossed and a smug, taunting smile on his face. Sherlock, for once, felt completely dumbstruck at the absolute and utterly horrendous accusation that vile man had just dared to say out loud.

"Excuse you?!" Lestrade said in a daring way, clearly giving Ethan a chance to take back his words. Apparently, that didn't seem to face the American.

"I said that doctor is a complete wuss. He might as well add drama queen and attention-seeker to his resume. Wailing and crying on the floor like that from a little shove. Pathetic." Ethan stated coldly.

A silence fell over the room, so thick what you'd been able to hear a pin drop as its occupants tried to understand how such awful words could ever be spewed by anyone about a man as good as John Watson.

Surprisingly Anderson was the first to snap out of it and took a few accusing steps towards Davis. "Who the bloody hell do you think you are to stand there and talk about John Watson in that way?!" He called out angrily.

Ethan just shrugged his shoulders in indifference. "Hey, I'm just calling them as I see them buddy. If we'd been in America a wimp like that would never be allowed to work with the force."

Now it was Sally who stepped forward, her eyes lightnings of barely controlled anger. "Did you hear what DI Lestrade just said? John Watson received his injury while serving his country! So how can you even say such a ridiculous thing!" She growled.

Ethan pushed away from the wall and threw his hands up in exasperation. "How come, whenever a soldier is wounded in action everyone makes such a fucking big deal out of it?! I've been shot in the line of duty too, but you don't see me weeping on floor whenever someone bumps into me." Ethan crossed his arms in a defensive stance a small laugh escaping his lips. "Shot while serving, huh? What, did someone step on his toes and had to shoot him to stop his crying?" He grinned, clearly amused by himself.

That was the last drop to make Sherlock's cup overflow. Until now he'd been completely stunned into silence as even his superior brain simply couldn't fathom how anyone could talk this way about his John. But this was too much! The detective marched all the way up to the American bastard until they stood face to face. Sherlock was practically shaking with rage and shot daggers with his eyes. "You were _grazed_ on your right armtwo years agoby a low calibre bullet, fired by a teenager by mistake. You suffered a nonlethal flesh wound that required exactly four stitches and nothing more." Sherlock quickly deduced taking a deep breath before continuing. "John Watson.. Was shot with a .50 calibre bullet fired from a sniper's rifle while he was working on one of his comrades, preforming emergency field surgery in the middle of an active warzone! When that bullet pierced through him, you know what he did? He finished his job and he saved that man's life! Afterwards he patched himself up as well as possible and he _kept. On. Going_! John continued to further save three other men's life that day, despite being critically injured himself. A feat that almost cost him his life, his military career as well as a permanent and painful injury to his left shoulder." Sherlock were surprised to find his own voice to be shaking slightly, but even he couldn't contain his emotions when someone would talk so ill about the only love of his life. "Next time you decide to stomp on my partner in such a dishonourable manner you better know what hell you're talking about, or I'll give _you_ something to really whine and cry about." He finished darkly.

Davis at least seemed to be a bit embarrassed after the detective's rant, but found himself unable to change his standpoint and face the humiliation of admitting his misjudgement and apologizing. So instead he did the only other thing he could think of. "Oh God, are you guys gay too? How disgusting." He sneered.

Just as those words had escaped his mouth Ethan felt a frightfully strong fist connect to his jaw that threw him to the ground. The American looked up, expecting the attack had come from the detective, but to his surprise he saw DI Lestrade standing over him with his fist still clenched tightly and a look of pure rage shining down upon him.

"What the hell man?!" Ethan exclaimed furiously and took to his now sore cheek.

"If I ever hear you talk about John or Sherlock that disrespectfully again I can assure you there's a lot more where that came from." The DI growled dangerously.

"Are you all fucking crazy?! I'm going to press charges for assault after this!" Davis exclaimed loudly and fought his way back on his feet.

"Yeah you do that mate and see how many will listen to you." Lestrade dared.

"Are you stupid old man?! I got like a dozen witnessed that just saw you punch me!" The taller man screeched.

Lestrade turned around to face the rest of the room with its many officers. "Did anyone see me even touching officer Davis back there?" He asked openly. Immediately a steady stream of 'No', 'Nope', 'I didn't see anything sir' followed from everyone in the room. Lestrade turned back to Davis. "Looks like it's your word against mine son."

Ethan was steadily turning a rather alarming shade of red before he turned around to storm out the door. "Fuck this shit! I'm going back to the office. This is a freaking madhouse!" He yelled as he disappeared down the stairs.

"Yeah fuck off you tosser!" Anderson yelled after him.

Sherlock cleared his throat and looked to Lestrade. "What you did… What you all just did.." He turned to indicate the rest of the yarders in the room. "That was.. Good. Thank you." He said softly.

Lestrade offered Sherlock a friendly pad on the shoulder. "Any time Sherlock. No one is going to mess with our favourite doctor and if they do, you just point them our way." The man said with a smile followed by muttered agreements all across the room.

Just then John entered the room from behind the doorframe looking slightly better, but still clutching his left shoulder tightly. His face, although pained, was filled with gratitude and a hint of disbelief of what had just taken place. "Thank you everyone.. Really I.. Don't even know what to say." The doctor said and huffed out a smile, shaking his head slightly.

"John, are you alright? How long have you been standing there?" Sherlock exclaimed and quickly made his way to his side.

"Long enough." John answered. "I was right next door you know. I could still hear everything. When the shouting began I couldn't contain my curiosity though."

"How's your shoulder?" Sherlock asked in a low voice. It was a stupid question he knew. It was obvious John was still in much pain, but he couldn't help but ask.

"It's Bad." John admitted simply, for the first time since Sherlock had known him. "I hate to admit it, but we might have to swing by the hospital and have them issue a low dose morphine prescription for me."

If John willingly admitted his need for painkillers Sherlock and Greg knew it was more than just bad.

"I'll drive you guys to the hospital right away. Donovan, you manage the scene from here." Lestrade called. Sally confirmed right away.

Sherlock placed a gentle hand on the small of John's back, letting John make the trip down the stairs by his own, but still staying close enough that the doctor could choose to lean into him if he needed the support.

As John and Sherlock both made their way into Greg's patrol car, both men relished in knowing how many people would always have their back.

XXX

Ethan Davis was sitting at his desk, silently brewing with rage over the day's earlier events and how his ass had been so humiliatingly handed to him. How could he have known that puny doctor was so damn popular on the force? He'd seen today's case as a chance to promote himself as being the strong and dependant officer on the force and saw the doctor's episode as a mean to make himself look even better by contrast. But he hadn't known the man's injury was so serious. He'd just guessed it would be comparable to when he was shot himself. He'd expected that his own story of being shot on duty and he being a proper man about it, would've made him the centre of attention and admiration. No one was supposed to know he'd only suffered a flesh wound from that episode. That wasn't lying, it was just.. Half a truth. But then that bloody detective had somehow seen right through him and totally exposed him, making him look like a jackass. That wasn't at all how he'd planned today's event to pan out. This sucked!

Little did he know his day was just about to get worse as DI Dimmock walked towards him, a huge stack of files in his arms, that were unceremoniously dumped on his desk.

"What the hell is this now?" Ethan exclaimed frustrated, as the files slid around like an avalanche covering his entire desk area.

DI Dimmock eyed him with an ice-cold stare. "This." He slammed his hand down on the small mountain of files with a loud bang. "Is all the old murder case files going back 10 years, that needs sorting, filing and then to be scanned and uploaded to our digital records." The man stated coolly.

Ethan gawped dumb eyed. "What? That's not even my job!" He complained.

Dimmock leaned just a slight tad closer to the American, his eyes fitting him with a hard glare. "Well it bloody hell is now! And I want this done by tonight. Have I made myself clear Mr. Davis?"

Ethan fisted his hands under the table. "It this because of what happened earlier with that Dr. Watson? This is getting ridiculous!" He howled.

"Finished, by tonight – or else!" Dimmock barked out harshly one last time and then continued on his way without looking back.

Ethan just barely contained the urge to bang his head against his desk as he picked up the first file to sort through. This day was just getting worse and worse.

XXX

It was late when Ethan finally locked himself into his flat. Sorting through all those files had been a freaking nightmare and he just wanted to go to sleep and forget this awful day had ever happened. As he entered the door however he almost had a heart attack when he spotted a black suited man, sitting in his armchair with his legs crossed and twirling an umbrella in his right hand, looking as if he'd been waiting patiently for him to return home.

"Ah, Mr. Davis. Good evening." The suited man said in a thick British accent.

"Who the fuck are you and what the hell are you doing in my home?" He yelled.

"Who I am is not important, you should be far more concerned about what I can do." The man stated in a very calm collected manner, which for some only seemed to make him much more frightening.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Davis asked, trying to sound unafraid, but failing miserably.

The black suited man rose form the chair and leaned both hands against the umbrella in front of him. "Today you made a choice to disrespect and insult a very dear friend of mine and afterwards even stooping as low as to express aversion to his romantic relationship with my little brother."

"Oh God.. No more.. I'm sorry okay! I'm sorry I did that! How should I know they were so damned admired and loved by everyone? Had I known I would suffer so much I would've never said those things, I swear!" Ethan begged.

Mycroft's stare turned stone cold. "Is that supposed to make everything okay then? Let's hope where you're going they'll be more accepting of your pathetic character."

"Wait, w-what? Where I'm going? I'm not going anywhere!" Davis stammered.

"Oh you are Mr Davis. I've arranged a nice little post for you as a traffic officer in Noida, India. It's in a tough and terribly crime infested neighbourhood I'm afraid, but you seem to have very high thoughts of yourself so it shouldn't be anything you can't handle. Your plane will be leaving in 8 hours so I suggest you start packing." Mycroft said, a satisfied but terrifying smile adorning his face.

"What? No! Forget it, I'll leave okay. I'll go back to America I promise, but I'm not moving to freaking India!"

Mycroft stepped into Ethan's personal space so they stood almost chest to chest and whispered. "You're leaving on that plane Mr Davis. Believe me when I say that I've shown you an unreasonable amount of kindness in doing this. If it'd been purely up to me, you wouldn't have been granted this luxurious opportunity. Unfortunately, my little brother seems to be of that conviction that my preferred course of action would displease his partner. So you see, even after the way you treated him John Watson is still a greater and better man than you can ever hope to dream of being. Have I made myself clear?!" Mycroft roared the last few words.

Ethan Davis could only offer a frightened nod in response.

"Good." Mycroft adjusted the hem of his suit. "I would normally offer a wish of good luck in the future, but for all I care Mr. Davis. You can go to hell."

With those final words Mycroft turned on his heel and exited the flat, leaving behind a speechless Ethan Davis in his wake.

Back in Bakerstreet Sherlock had lit up the fireplace, the flames and a small lamp by the couch the only things lightning up the room, bathing it in a soft glow.

Sherlock sat on the couch, a soft pillow in his lap and the head of John Watson resting on top. Both men were clad in a t-shirt and a soft pair of pyjamas pants. The detective ran his fingers steadily through the soft grey-blond hair as his listened to his lover's soft breathing. John wasn't asleep. The morphine had significantly helped to manage the pain and made the doctor accordingly lightheaded, but he'd still trouble finding rest. Their bedroom upstairs had been unpleasantly cold and the last thing John needed right now Instead Sherlock had brought down their pillows and John's cover. He prompted John to lay down on the couch with his head in Sherlock's lap to help him relax and the cover pulled around him. The detective assured John that he had no problem staying up himself, offering John the comfort he needed at this time.

Not many words were exchanged between the two. They found no need for words and let their actions speak for themselves, much like the actions their friends had taken today when that despicable man had insulted John in the worst way.

As John lay there with the love of his life, the wondrous feeling of fingers shifting through his hair and with the fire crackling softly in the fireplace he took a moment to appreciate how truly lucky he was to have such good friends and blessing his life.

 **XXX**

That was it folks! The end of the story. Thank you soooo much for your sweet comments and the many kudos! I'm so glad so many seemed to enjoy this story.

I apologize that there probably are several mistakes in here and as you also might have noticed, commas aren't my strong suit either. I hope it hasn't been too bad though and that you all enjoyed this last chapter :)

I tried to incorporate everyone John have helped in the fic as well as I could and even though they didn't all play as big a role as others I hope it was acceptable.

I realize banishment to India might be.. A bit of an overreaction to a situation such as this but hey! I couldn't imagine Mycroft would very reasonable when really pissed off so that's what I went with and I honestly couldn't think of a worse punishment than traffic managing an Indian intersection!

Thank you so much once again – and I hope this fic will bring a smile and joy to its' future readers! :)


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